Fix
by corneroffandom
Summary: If Big Show can't walk out the winner, well... he won't allow anyone else to.


A/N: As April is on the horizon, this is the end of 31-Days-Of-Fic. I started the month off with a fic I wasn't sure of, and I'm ending it the same. But the point of this note isn't to ramble about that, it is to **thank **each and every one of you who read, reviewed, placed these stories on alerts, and everything else to show support. From Back to Basics to Open Your Eyes and everything in between, I'm thrilled with the positive response you all have so kindly given me and who knows, if the plots flow just as well, we might do it again next year ;)

On that note, I do have a couple of other stories that I've completed recently and I'll be uploading them in the next few days, so you all won't be without my writing for long. But again I thank you all and now, the story.

Ricardo Rodriguez watches on, relieved, from ringside as Alberto Del Rio, once more thinking on his feet, dropkicks a steel chair into Big Show's face, sending the much larger man over and down right through the wooden table that'd been set up in the corner in a move reminicent of the one seen during their match weeks back when Del Rio had first won the title. Almost sagging in relief, Ricardo has just concluded the announcement of Alberto's newest victory, about to slide into the ring to congratulate his best friend, when Big Show, moving unimaginably quickly for a man his size, regains his balance, rounds on the unaware Mexican aristocrat and downs him with one solid strike from his massive fist.

Ricardo, frozen on the ring apron, only just has the foresight to leap back to the floor below when Big Show rounds on him, the sneer on his face only growing when he peers down at the ring announcer. Desperate to drag his employer to safety, the younger man continues trying repetitively to find a way into the ring, each attempt thwarted by Show's large boot stomping down in front of him. The cruel giant seems to be making a game of it, laughing through his anger loudly every time. Finally their eyes lock through the ring ropes, Ricardo's wide and pleading. "Por favor, just let me-"

Sneer turning all the more hateful and angry, Big Show shakes his head. "No, this isn't playing out like that, Ricardo. See, if I can't leave with the belt, the least I can do is make sure your El Patron here doesn't either."

And with that, it all clicks into place for Ricardo. He knows what Big Show is doing, and why. "No," he breathes out, his eyes slipping closed in denial as, sure enough, "Here to Show the World" begins to echo through the arena. "No, no..." Glancing towards the ring, his heart sinks in the realization that Alberto still isn't moving, Big Show also keeping the referee and trainer from getting close enough to check on him. "Ay..." There's nothing he can do, no recourse- except... unless... he bites his lips and moves, running around the ring to try to block Ziggler's approach. It's risky but he'd been risking a lot the past few weeks just trying to keep his employer's title reign in tact against Big E, especially.

Sure enough, he's barely made it up to Dolph when the much larger enforcer gets between them, sneering down at the ring announcer. Dolph brushes past them both, his focus purely on the downed man in the ring, when Ricardo spins around and tries to get ahold of his garish blue shirt, the briefcase- anything... Just as he manages to brush a hand against Dolph's upper arm, he feels himself being pulled away, turned back to face Big E. "Nuh-uh, little man," the enforcer snaps at him, eyes cold and brutal as he holds him in place. As soon as Ricardo hears the bell ring to announce the beginning of Dolph's cash in match, he starts squirming and fighting to get free, desperate to stop this from happening. How he slips free, he's not sure but for one brief, wild moment, he is and, without even thinking, he swings out with a punch that only really seems to accomplish in making his knuckles throb. And angering Big E. He gulps, trying to back away, but he doesn't get too far when E. is on him, his impossibly thick arms wrapped around him and lifting him up like he weighs nothing.

"No!" he chokes out, struggling even harder to get free, do something- anything... but there's nothing to be done, Big E. continues on until finally he feels a sharp impact jar his whole body, unforgiving pain rushing along Ricardo's spine but centering in his lower back as he cries out in agony, the much larger man dropping him mercilessly to the floor immediately. He's still laying there, choking and clawing, trying to find some sort of reprieve, when he distantly notes the bell ringing again, Ziggler's music undercutting it. He sniffs, knowing that it's over- Alberto has lost his title. "Lo siento," he whimpers, his vision spotting over until finally he falls limp, the pain too intense for him to hold onto consciousness.

When he comes to, Del Rio is leaning over him, pale and sweaty, his fingers tense as they brush against his jaw. "What's wrong with him?!" he demands of the kneeling trainer as he presses his hands into Ricardo's lower back, the ring announcer gasping in sudden agony, arching away from the touch. "Stop!" he snaps at the man before turning back to his friend. "Ricardo?"

"El Patron," he groans, struggling to look at him. "Big E..."

"He's gone, they're gone." His fingers rest in Ricardo's hair and he shakes his head, not fully believing everything that's happened in the last ten minutes. Coming to to find his title gone and his best friend unconscious- again... "Amigo... what hurts?"

"My- my lower back," Ricardo whispers. "Big E... slammed me into the post, I think. I couldn't do anything to... help you..."

Alberto shakes his head. "Don't worry about that right now." Their conversation is interrupted when the trainer shifts his fingers with no warning, Ricardo arching up in fresh agony as he cries out. "Hey! I said stop it," Alberto exclaims, glowering at the man still examining his injuries.

"I understand he's in pain but I need to figure out what's wrong with him. Considering where he hit the post at, I'd say his kidneys may be affected."

Del Rio goes very still, very quiet, at how serious that sounds. "What do you mean?"

"Bruised, I'm guessing. I'll examine him more thoroughly once we move him, but it's my best guess right now."

Alberto nods grimly, staring down at his best friend. Bruised kidneys, as painful as they are, are probably low on the unfortunately long list of injuries that Ricardo's suffered over the years. He squeezes his hand. "You'll be ok, amigo."

Ricardo blinks and nods, breathing heavily as he closes his eyes once more. "I'm sorry you lost your title, El Patron. I wish I could've done something-"

"I said not to worry about that right now, mi amigo." He shakes his head grimly. "I can't do anything about the title belt right this moment, but I can help you. And I will."

The ring announcer grimaces and sighs. "Gracias."

Within the hour, they're back at the hotel, Alberto watching as Ricardo gingerly settles in, blankets pressed to his throat while he winces against the stiff bedding pressing against his back, rolling onto his side. "Here," he murmurs, holding out a heating pad that Ricardo accepts with a sigh, leaning back onto it to hold it into place against the most painful part of his injury. "Better?"

"A little." When his eyes flutter a few moments later, Alberto stands and dims the lights in the room, slipping into the shadows to watch as his ring announcer falls asleep, and plan for payback. Plan to get his title back. Plan to divide all of the pain Ricardo's experiencing among all of those responsible, multiplied as he sees fit.

He'll be a busy man. He looks forward to it.


End file.
